Winds esker                
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That  For Two Years 
 I  Couldn'T  Go  To. Regardless How Much 
 Discussed  With  Others, Or  Pointed Out 
 On  Maps, I Could  Not Think Of It  When 
 Alone. I  Would Often  Travel  Past  The 
 Fork,  Where A  Right Turn Would  Surely 
 Take Me There, But Even  Then, Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When  I  Finally  Got  There, After Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,  The  Place  Was   Surreal.   An 
 Esker,  Like A  Needle-Thin Rift  Out In 
 The  Lake,  But  Ten  Meters   High  And 
 Adorned In Birch,  Willow, Bracken,  And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The  View To  Either Side. There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T  Recognize Them. First Off,  They 
 Were Much Too Close, As The Lake  Should 
 Stretch For A  Hundred  Meters  More  On 
 Both  Sides.  But  Now  I  Felt  I Could 
 Almost  Reach  Out And  Touch Them.  And 
 Then,  When I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They Were Of The  Right  Lake. But  This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite.  Like A Pair Of  Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With No  Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them  As Belonging Many Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I  Examined  The  Ridge,  The   Treeline 
 Above. Was This  What  You Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying  Forward, On  The Very  Tip  Of 
 The Esker,  I  Found  The Ruins  Of Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The Moss,  And  Strange  Slabs  Inserted 
 Into The  Slope  Like Dams  Against  The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting  There, I  Could  See Across The 
 Narrowed Lake My  Entire Path To Where I 
 Sat: From  The Stairwell  Of  My  House, 
 Through The Old  Woods  Behind The  Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then  Back Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy  Villas,   Over  The 
 Fields,  And Then That Right Turn At The 
                   Fork.                  
                                          
 And Then The  Stairs  Up  On  The Ridge. 
 Thinking Back,  This  Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In  A Grove, There  Were  Stairs 
 Much Like  The Ones I Currently Sat  On, 
 Old  And  Worn Down,  That Lead  You  Up 
 Onto The  Esker. The Point Of Entry. Had 
 I  Insted Opted To Walk The Path At  Its 
 Foot, I'M  Sure  My Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The   Lake,  There  Were  People  In 
 Boats. I Wondered, Could  They Even  See 
 Me? If  I Shouted,  Would They  Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?